


The raiju was a matchmaker

by espritneo



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Character Development, Eventual Romance, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Some Humor, Strangers to Lovers, folklore AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espritneo/pseuds/espritneo
Summary: Yuuri is a poor farmer focused on making ends meet and recovering from his parents' death. He meets a thunder demon in a cat-shape and impresses the demon with his kindness. In return, the demon decides to find him a bride. And the story starts there, with Yuuri, his "bride", and how they grow in the quiet countryside.Based on "Granny demon was a matchmaker" from Folktales in Japan.





	1. Yuuri - of first meetings

_Once upon a time, there was a young man. He had lost his parents to the plague. His sister lived in the village with her family, but he lived with his parents and worked on the farm._

Despite their passing, the young man continued to work on the farm. Alone, his yield dropped by half. He toiled from the false dark of morning til the stars threaten to shine overhead. He worked hard to escape his guilt and to redeem himself to the parents that he lost.

One spring day, Yūri was planting row after row of rice. It was late in the day and he was nearly through, on his second to last acre.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a demon lurking in the bushes. The demon was two meters high, too tall and broad to remain inconspicious. Although, it certainly wasn’t for a lack of trying.

Yūri was incredibly curious as to what the red-furred creature was doing on his land, but it doesn’t seem to have ill-intent.

He continued to plant.

The demon crept closer, dancing from foot to foot, peering from one hiding place to another.

On impulse, Yūri untucked a pair of sandals from his belt and tossed them towards edge of the paddy, trusting the demon to catch them.

“Oh?” The demon growled. “What are these for?”

“Your feet looked cold,” Yūri said simply.

“But why are you giving them to me?” Yūri stopped, giving the demon his full attention. “You should be shaking in fright.” The cat-faced demon drew itself up, stomping once for good measure. “I’m a _raiju_! I’ll eat you!”

Yūri laughed and poked his head beyond the cat-beast’s fangs. The _raiju_ ’s mouth was kind of wet and slimy. Maybe he was really hungry, but Yūri didn’t think today was his day to die.

Which was a pity.

“That’d be nice!” He taunted from inside the raiju’s maw. “Do you want to try me now?”

The demon pulled back and eyed him, perplexed. “Aren’t you afraid to die?”

“Nope. If I die, I’ll be able to see my parents again.”

“Oh. So your parents are dead.”

“Mmm.” Yūri resumed his work. “They died of the plague.”

The demon sighed in sympathy. “No one can help the plague.”

“I could have.” Yūri automatically disagreed. “They died because I didn’t work hard enough. If I had just done more, we could have afforded a doctor and medicine.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard a human say.” The demon snorted. “Do you have a wife?” He asked with interest.

Yūri had to put down the seedlings in his hands. He bent over and laughed at the silliest thing he had ever heard.

He told the demon as such. “No one wants to marry a poor boy.” He chuckled, helplessly amused.

“That’s too bad. A wife would knock some sense into your head.” The large cat shook its fur. “My name is Yuri-o. Be sure to remember that.”

Yūri nodded with some affection and a great deal of resolve. He would certainly never forget this unusual conversation. “And my name is Katsuki Yūri.”

The demon watched him leave. He put on his new slippers and made a considering sound before leaping up to the heavens.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_One summer night, thunder and lightning raged overhead. The young man, hard at work, plaiting straw into rope, glanced out the window after a particularly loud crack. A crack that changed his life._

The fog outside his house cleared and Yūri recognized the hulking, thick-furred creature lurking in his front yard. He hurried into his slippers and ran outside.

“Yuri-o!” He called, glad to see a familiar face. The _raiju_ looked well in the months since their meeting. And so did the woven sandals on his red, clawed feet.

“Yūri, I’ve come bearing your bride.” The demon beckoned him closer.

But Yūri stumbled to a shocked standstill. “Hah?!”

Yuri-o was already opening the carriage and poking his head into the narrow space. “A bride, moron, keep up. I found you a bride and I’ve brought him here.”

_Him?_

On cue, a human cry of terror startled them both and a flurry of silk and jewels surged from inside the ornate hand-carriage. Yuri-o is knocked aside and Yūri caught the fast-moving bundle hurtling towards him.

Oh.

It’s a man.

A _beautiful_ man. Yūri stared at the figure before him, speechless. He didn’t know where to look. Pale, flawless skin, glowing in the light of the moon, stretched over a long slender column, sharp jaw, high cheekbones and delicate ears.

Equally shining silver hair, long and ornate, swept up in an intricate bun and framed with bejeweled combs and pins, some long enough to sway musically in the breeze.

Large, iridescent blue-green eyes, layered like the ocean, terror swimming at the periphery, edged out by an expression of growing wonder.

“You needed a wife; I brought you one.” Yuri-o’s impatient voice broke into his thoughts. “As thanks for the slippers.”

The farmer spluttered. “Yuri-o!” He gestured wildly, at a loss how to explain to a _demon_ about right and wrong. “That’s not how humans take a wife. You need to take him back. He might have a family that misses him.” He looked at the stranger curiously. “Where _are_ you from?”

The stranger – a noble, Yūri decided – hummed and put a finger to his mouth in thought. He turned one way, then the other, peering into the distance. At last, he nodded to himself. “From beyond those mountains, and most likely beyond a sea.” His lips quirked with amusement. “I was on my way to meet my betrothed, when lightning and thunder filled the sky and I found myself here.”

_Betrothed._

Of course.

Yūri turned away. “Take him back, Yuri-o. He doesn’t belong here.”

He couldn’t regret the frost in his words. He quietly put that first bloom deep in his heart.

“Wait!”

In a whisper of cloth, the beautiful stranger knelt and touched his head to the ground. His voluminous robes fluttered around him, colorful wings on display.

“Please, let me stay.” The husband-to-be implored, unafraid of the mud seeping into the fabric and dragging it down. “My parents chose my bride and I have no desire to be married. But I cannot stop it if I return.”

Yūri hesitated. “I’m very poor.”

“I’ll work!” The other man raised his voice, lifted his head, locking eyes. “I’ll learn and I’ll work hard.”

His resolve weakened, drowning in stormy blue-green. He looked at Yuri-o for help.

The demon did nothing, strangely smiling.

“A-alright,” Yūri reached down, unable to bear the sight. “Get up. Your robes are getting dirty.”

He was engulfed in a fragrant, muddy hug. “My name is Victor. Please take care of me.”

Fine tendrils of moonlight hair tickled his exposed collarbones and sternum.

“My name is Yūri.” He feebly gestured towards Victor’s kidnapper. “That over there is Yuri-o. He’s a _raiju_.”

“Ohh.” Victor inspected the demon, now able to put a name and category to the monstrous face. “Thank you for rescuing me, Yuri-o.”

Victor hasn’t let Yūri go.

Yurio snorted. “Well, make sure he takes good care of you.” He pointed a red, clawed finger at a neighboring mountain. “If he doesn’t treat you well, face that mountain and call for me.”

Victor’s cheeks went pink and he smiled. “What will you do?”

“I’ll eat him, of course!” Yurio roared, Yūri’s head already between his fangs. The farmer just winced at the volume.

“Hai, hai,” Yūri patted Yuri-o’s snout. “Don’t be such a worry wart, Yuri-o.”

“Don’t call me that!” The demon growled, leaving in an outrage of crackling thunder.

And they were alone.

The air sparked with Yuri-o’s leftover energy.

They studied each other. Victor’s palms were warm and weightless on Yūri’s shoulders, damp from touching the wet dirt. Yūri fought to stay calm despite the goosebumps that sprang to life over his arms, under his clothes.

Just a side-effect of the static in the air.

“Your clothes are a mess,” Yūri remarked. Victor’s finery was caked from the knees down, sleeves splattered and stained where the moisture had seeped into the fabric.

Despite his disheveled appearance, Victor was beyond a mere mortal like himself. Yūri resisted the temptation to stroke his long, sparkling hair, to peer into that unusual river-deep stare and fish for the thoughts in Victor’s head.

He suspected he wouldn’t want to know.

*“Let’s act quickly,” He briskly led them into the hut. “We’ll have to disrobe, but if we soak them right away, they’ll come out good as new.”

With Victor’s help, they got a wooden bucket filled with warm water and left their robes submerged overnight. Yūri mentally adjusted his plans to accommodate an early morning trip to the river.

Yūri still had his trousers on, but Victor arrived with the clothes on his back and had stripped down to his undercloth. The other man seemed at ease with his own nakedness, sitting on the wooden platform without complaint or a hint of shyness.

Yūri was used to seeing other men naked. In the country, there was no one around to offend except the gods. His village was poor and his family even more so. There had been times he or his father were forced to work without that particular luxury and it was a fact of life.

Yet his eyes shied away from looking at Victor directly. Victor was too strange, too different. He was accustomed to tanned, sun-weathered arms and torsos, backs bowed from long hours in the fields, hair and eyes a reflection of the earth around them.

Victor was anything but those things and his gaze skittered whenever the other man crossed his line of sight. He tried not to notice how cramped his house had become now that he was sharing space with Victor’s long, toned limbs. He tried not to notice the way the other man’s oiled skin shimmered in the firelight as he moved.

Instead, Yūri huddled on his side of the fire and tried not to fall apart.

Victor put a hand on his chin and sighed. “It’s a shame Yuri-o left the dowry carriage behind. We could have found better use for the goods here.”

“Goods?”

Victor waved carelessly. “Fabrics. Fine cheese. A small chest of money. Jewelry. Weapons. We weren’t wealthy, so it wasn’t much.”

Yūri tried not to take offense. If owning material goods “wasn’t much”, his house was a literal hole in the ground. “And you’d rather be…here…instead of that?”

Victor chided, “Wealth was a cold comfort when I had no options. All my life, I’ve been preparing to marry someone I’ve never met, to be useful to a home I’ve never seen. I was a hostage long before Yuri-o found my caravan.”

“Victor, why were you being given away?”

Victor uncrossed and shifted his legs into a more comfortable position, laying on his side with his head propped up. “My family’s lands lie along our country’s border and there has been a war with the neighboring country for decades. I was the third son and I was promised to the landowning family on the other side to protect both our properties from conflict.”

“What will happen to them now?”

Victor gave an idle shrug. “My sister, perhaps. They’ll find a way. Both sides are committed to peace.”

“And – and you’re fine never knowing?” Yūri said hesitantly, not really understanding. He couldn’t imagine being in Victor’s shoes, content with leaving his family forever. He also couldn’t comprehend parents deciding their child’s life for him.

“I’m fine taking control over my own future.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yūri passed the most uncomfortable night of his life mostly awake and unable to sleep. The ramifications of Victor’s presence in his life was never more clear when they decided to turn in for the night.

Yūri had one futon, one blanket, and one pillow.

All of which they were currently sharing.

Yūri lay as motionless as possible, determined to preserve the scant centimeters of space between his body and his guest.

That was right. Victor was a guest. It wouldn’t do to make him feel awkward.

Behind him, Victor shifted under their blanket. Lingering traces of his perfume and scented oils wafted into Yūri’s nostrils. Maybe it was his imagination, but the other man’s warmth was creeping up on his back, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck, sending flickers down his spine...

Yūri threw the blanket back, grateful for the cold night breeze.

“Are you alright?” Victor asked, sounding mostly concerned, but slightly petulant.

“Yes,” Yūri said as reassuringly as he could, given he wasn’t sure if he was coming down with a headache or fever. “Just a bit warm. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Yūri was stiff all over from holding himself still. He’d rolled over onto his back, but he’d mostly succeeded in keeping to his side of the bed.

Victor, on the other hand…..

“Victor,” Yūri nudged the other man with his trapped arms. The noble just murmured in protest and tucked his face deeper into Yūri’s shoulder, curling the leg draped over the farmer’s shins until Yūri was very, very firmly ensconced in his octopus embrace.

“Victor!”

Yūri sighed and tried not to enjoy his predicament. The other man was radiating heat like a furnace and he was kind of sweaty, but he was almost naked which meant skin-to-skin contact of their entire upper bodies and he was extremely fit.

“Victor…” He tried again, wiggling a little. For emphasis. To, to wake him up. Not. Not to feel the smoothness of his skin.

Victor rocked back against his hip. Yūri was suddenly very, very aware of a lengthening problem against his side.

He shrieked out of reflex and bolted out out of the futon.

“What? What’s happening?” Victor fumbled about before seeming to realize there were no weapons nearby.

Or danger.

“N-nothing!” Yūri denied, high-pitched. “I-I just saw a rodent.” Victor, even sleepy-eyed, gave him a look of disbelief.

Yūri cleared his throat and ignored it. “I’m going down to the river.” He busily wrung out their clothes.

When Victor finally folded up the futon, he’s regained his composure and he was able to look the other man in the face. Victor was still mostly naked and that wasn’t about to change anytime today. If he could limit his gaze to appropriate places, he’d be able to avoid any further potential embarrassment.

Last night, taking Victor’s elaborate hairstyle down had taken considerable time and patience. The experience must also be fresh in the noble’s memory because the other man had settled for sweeping his waist-length silver hair into a high ponytail, secured with the simplest of his jewelry.

Speaking of jewelry. Yūri frowned at the new, potentially enticing additions to his household. “We’ll have to find somewhere safe for these while we’re out of the house.”

He rummaged in his small pile of straw baskets, emerging with a square straw-woven box with a hinged lid. He handed it to the noble. “Consider this your welcoming present.” He joked. “Put your treasures in here and we’ll hide it under the floor.”

Victor’s cheeks unexpectedly turned rosy pink and his eyes widened in unabashed pleasure. He threw his hair decorations inside and hugged the box to his chest. “Thank you, Yūri,” he crooned. “A present!”

Yūri belatedly flinched when his cheek was kissed. He gaped at the other man, internally bemoaning the loss of his composure, unable to resist touching his fingers to the ghost of an imprint.

“I’ve never gotten a present before.” Victor explained plainly. His smile turned wicked, looking Yūri slowly up and down. “Although, I think it would have been more precious as my dowry.”

“The clothes are dripping,” Yūri deflected mechanically. “Stick the box under the floor where it can’t be seen and let’s head to the river to finish the laundry.”

“Hai, hai,” Victor pouted. But he did as he was told and took his share of the wet load and supplies.

Their path was a well-worn dirt road breaking up the gentle waves of rice paddy fields. Trees are few and far, patchy areas of shade most useful in the dead of summer.

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon and for all that Victor doesn’t seem to mind walking outside in the altogether, Yūri was strangely relieved for the remnants of night to protect his virtue, yet not so cold to be unbearable. The river is not near by any stretch of the imagination and outside of this kind of emergency, Yūri only makes  the trip once a week to bathe and wash his jinbei. Idly, he wondered if that kind of filth will motivate Victor to seek his home elsewhere.

His chest felt a hollow pang and Yūri focused on teaching Victor the lay of the land. He told Victor of the five acres of rice he was able to maintain and the five that had gone to waste since his father passed away, using his hands and his father’s favorite landmarks to identify their family’s land.

Their nearest neighbors were three kilometers away on the east and west, families with larger farms and plentiful children to tend the fields.

After thirty minutes of walking, Yūri led them into a gap in the brush. Their sandaled feet slipped and slid along the banks of the river, until, with a gleeful shout, Yūri let himself tumble into the shallow stream.

“Yūri!” He instantly felt guilty for causing the alarm to enter Victor’s shout. He shook his drenched hair and waved.

“My sister and I used to do that every time we came for a bath.” He waded towards the rocks, dragging his bundle against the gentle current. The clothes landed on a large, dry stone with a wet splat, darkening the area. “Now hand me the soap and brush. We’ll get the rest of the mud off.” He gestured the other man to come and watch.

Victor put his hands on his hips. “You didn’t think this through, Yūri. Now _all_ your clothes have to dry. Whatever do you plan to wear while we wait?”

Yūri looked down at himself.

 _Oh_.

Well, wet pants and underthings weren’t the worst feeling in the world.


	2. Victor - on finding home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This world is new and overwhelming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year 1, from summer to fall

_Once upon a time, a well-bred man awaited the death of his soul._ _All his life, he walked a narrow path towards a grim and well-lit future. His days served a purpose, so that he could fulfill a singular role that he had no say in. But all that changed when lightning filled the sky._

With time and patience, Victor and Yūri find their rhythm. Although nights were never as awkward as their first, they are forced to share a futon for some time. Victor hardly minds. He’s been drawn to Yūri since the night they met. Yūri who automatically rejected him out of misguided care. He had known, right away, that this odd new circumstance was infinitely preferrable to his original destination.

He’s fascinated by this strange earthen being that’s taken him in. He’s never felt this way about anyone or anything in all his years, never experienced as many surprises as he has since lightning whisked him away to a foreign land.

He’s feeling himself bloom wide open under the harsh country sun and he only wants Yūri to appreciate his display.

There’s a tightness under his ribs that yearns to be closer, closer - to do what, Victor isn’t entirely certain. He only suspects that finding out is half the joy he’s headed for. Sometimes, he feels impatient, wants to touch now, has to close his fists and fight past the ache for his next breath.

It’s potent at night, with Yūri centimeters away, sharing his heat, their heads barely touching on a pillow meant for one. His fingers have a mind of their own and it takes all his will to respect the distance.

Each night, Victor would roll over and watch Yūri’s back until he fell asleep, dreaming of the day they bridged that gap.

Yūri, though, may not feel the same way. It’s alright; Victor doesn’t mind. Yūri’s heart is as endless as the fields of rice he wakes to each morning, as deep and steady as the ground under his feet. He’s grateful just to have the other man in his life, to be under his protection and tutelage as he finds his way in this strange, new world where people bathe once a week in a cool river, build and manage their lives with their own two hands, and show their appreciation in every gesture.

At first, he and Yūri are together day and night. Yūri teaches him how to care for the clothes on their backs, keep their small home neat and tidy. He learns how to cook, he’s slowly learning how to barter and shop. As Victor promised, he learns quickly and he works hard, as hard as he can. For himself and for Yūri and for Yūri to _see_ him.

At harvest, Yūri shows him how to shell and treat the grain, split the stalks and plait them into straw. Victor learns the art of weaving. His first few sandals are lopsided, shapeless things, made for unhealthy, swollen feet and tiny heels.

They are great for making Yūri laugh, although the latter refuses to admit it.

With time, Victor becomes proficient. They split the work. Yūri spends long hours in the fields. Victor cooks and cleans. He passes the time milling rice and weaving until the sun goes down and Yūri brightens his day.

Victor grew up in a busier place, surrounded by a hierarchy that ebbed and flowed but never truly touched him. Here, in the countryside, with the village a two hour walk and your neighbors too far away to be real, life boils down to the people you keep at home and in your heart.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One morning, Yūri returns early from the fields.

“Oh?” Victor peers out the window at the sound of his name. He’s dressed in his wedding robes, hair falling out of its messy bun. “Back already, darling?”

To his disappointment, Yūri just rolls his eyes and doesn’t grace him with a flush. “I’m going into the village to sell off the rice. I thought you’d want to come.”

“Of course!” Victor perks up with excitement. The farthest they’ve gone are their neighbor’s farms to the east and west for fresh vegetables.

Oh, they’ll want some lunch. The village will be quite a trek, four hours both ways, and they may be gone til dark.

He packs a cloth wrap with riceballs filled with bean paste and ties it securely around his neck. On his way out, he snags a gourd of water. He pauses at the door, carefully checking the house is in order and pests don’t have a reason to come and stay.

It’s still unfamiliar, almost still a game, taking such care of his things.

Victor finds that he likes it very much.

They walk down the road and over the hills at a steady clip, laden with tall baskets of rice. There’s a welcome autumn breeze weaving through Yūri’s unruly black locks and cooling the back of their necks. Victor makes Yūri explain every tall plant and tree and the story of its god. Yūri’s told him most of these tales before but he humors him and tells them again.

Victor thinks Yūri is a wonderful storyteller, deliberate and thoughtful, each and every tale infused with the opinions of his parents and ancestors, yet tempered with his personal criticism. As he learns the names of the local plants, he also learns the ideas that shaped the man walking beside him.

Eventually, Yūri begs off and they continue their trek in companionable silence.

“I wish I could return the favor,” Victor muses after awhile. Yūri doesn’t follow, at first. He wears an adorably uncertain expression, waiting for the bad news. Silly man. Victor grins, “But, even if we did somehow manage to find a way back to my home, I’m very certain I could get lost a hundred meters from my front door. It was important that I learn certain skills. I’m an excellent book-keeper and I know how to manage a moderate household. All boys are taught military history and how to defend themselves with a sword and a gun.”

“But in my homeland, we’re preoccupied with war and status. My family is low-ranking nobility, not enough to be important, but high enough to delegate work to others. To me, animals and plants were pages in a ledger. I’ve never touched them, never thought about them. They were items to add, subtract, manipulate and project.”

“Please don’t put yourself down like that,” Yūri frowns. “You’ve already accomplished and learned much more than I ever will in my lifetime.”

Victor plucks a summer weed blossom hugging a fencepost with its kin. “Yes, but,” He twirls it between his thumb and index finger, then bends slightly to tuck it behind Yūri’s ear. “I believe I’m finding this to be far more important.”

He smiles softly.

Impulsively, he reaches for Yūri’s hand.

Yūri doesn’t pull away. He just ducks his head a bit, fighting a smile.

Their cheeks stay warm and their eyes remain fixed on the road ahead for quite some time.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yūri’s village has a population of fifty families. Nearly all of the structures are homes and it doesn’t appear to have any formal organization under the village head. The deeper they wander, the more people call out to the farmer by name.

“My sister lives here, with her husband and my niece. She married into the blacksmiths our family has been using for many years. My sister wasn’t meant to be a wife. But, with Touki, she works as a blacksmith and she’s very happy.”

“That house belongs to Yuuko-san and Takeshi-kun. I’ve known them all my life. Takeshi’s father owns the dojo on the other side of the village. Takeshi is one of the senior instructors and Yuu-chan helps him run the dojo and takes care of their three daughters.”

“That building is Minako-sensei’s. Minako-sensei is a dancer. She lives and works out of the second floor and uses the first floor to sell alcohol. She’s loud and cheerful and it’s lively and bright in there every night.”

Yūri stops suddenly. “Let’s set up here.” He gestures at nothing in particular.

Victor looks up the road one way, sweeping his gaze over evenly spaced men and women clad in solid colors, tiny piles of merchendise spread before them.

_This is how it’s done_.

He watches and he imitates and together they fill woven round trays with heaping helpings of rice. Yūri settles himself comfortably. But Victor automatically tucks his feet under his bottom and holds himself politely, as he was taught.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nearly an hour passes and they’ve yet to sell a grain of rice.

Victor suppresses a sigh and the urge to tuck his hair behind his ear. His knees and calves twinge from bearing his entire weight; his back aches from sitting so formally.

He’s not a fan of being idle.

The street is active but people are giving them a wide berth. Thrice in the last hour, women in flower kimonos chat with vendors to their left, their right, not-so-subtly gawking as they pass from a distance.

“Could you possibly stand out more?” Yūri plucks the thoughts out of his head.

Victor flushes and tenses, unsure. Yūri’s probably joking, but still…

“Sit any straighter and we’ll end up scaring their customers, too.”

He can’t decide. It would be disrespectful to their customers if he relaxed. But Yūri’s not wrong; Victor _is_ likely causing a scene and impeding their business.

What to do? _What to do_? His mind swirls, fragmenting into permutations of cause and effect. He can’t decide.

A familiar weight rests on his shoulder. “Say, Victor, you’ve been at it for awhile now. Why don’t we switch?” Yūri’s hand tells him to lie on his back without argument.

Yūri pats his shoulder and leaves him to stare at the sky and decide how he’ll react.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the end, the villagers decide for him. Somehow, a farmer lounging about with a tall foreigner’s head on their lap is impossible for curious onlookers to resist. The villagers are all too polite to ask outright, but the rice sells at a steady rate.

Victor isn’t certain how many of their customers actually came over needing to buy versus having a cheap excuse, but he thinks it all evens out in the end.

And even he was useful, after all.

“Oh! It’s Yūri-kun!”

“Yūri! Yūri, Yūri!” Three young voices chant in glee.

“Yuu-chan!” Yūri automatically smiles, wide and warm. Victor is awash in light and hunger. He sits up and unpacks their lunch, offering a share to Yūri’s friends.

“Oh, no, thank you, we’ve already eaten.” Yuuko is cute and petite with large, kind eyes and pretty brown hair. Her tiny daughters cling to her knees, all puffy cheeks and brash eyebrows.

They lean to take a closer look at him.

Victor’s never really been around children. He raises a manicured eyebrow at them and bites into a riceball, emulating Yūri at his tiredest when the farmer lacked interest in keeping company. Those nights, he would eat his dinner and stare into the fire in spite of Victor’s best efforts to make him smile.

Yūri and Yuuko chat cheerfully, ignoring their stare-off.

Victor shamelessly listens in.

“Spring has been very good to me. We didn’t loose any of the rice and with Victor’s help, I might even start using the other paddies next year.”

“That’s great! Winter was rough this year and we were pretty worried about you. Takeshi kept asking Mari if you’d sent any news.”

“It did get a bit tight during the coldest month, but I was mostly fine. Sorry to worry you. The hills were too harsh to pass.”

“Takeshi’s leading the advanced class through their forms right now. He’s going to be disappointed he didn’t get to see you.”

Yūri chuckled nervously, touching his face. “Yuu-chan, I don’t think he’d actually show that if he _did_ see me.”

Yuuko laughs, “You’re right. He loves being mean to you. But you know you’re family.” She nudges her daughters along. “See ya, Yūri-kun, Victor-dono.”

“Victor’s fine,” the long-haired man corrects. Smiling, Yuuko nods and waves goodbye.

“She’s nice,” Victor comments. “And lovely. They care for you very much.”

“I used to like her very much,” Yūri admits, laughing at the memory. Victor chokes on sticky rice. “I was just a child and she was much older and the prettiest girl I knew. She’s still the prettiest woman in town. Takeshi’s a really lucky guy that she’s only ever had eyes for him.”

“And now?” Victor manages. His fingers trace the smooth curves of their water gourd.

Yūri makes a puzzled sound, mouth stuffed with rice and bean paste. “What about now?”

“Do you still like her very much?”

“Not that way.” Yūri’s soft, content. “And I have you, don’t I?”

Victor tightens and loosens all at once.

“Yes. That’s true.”

Yūri shows him the coins they’ve earned and they pass the time with lessons. Accustomed to currency, Victor makes few mistakes. Their customers take pleasure in sharing their favorite business tales. With every smile directed at him, Victor grows aware of the tension he’d carried in his shoulders. It’s easier to control his body after that. Yūri seems to be able to tell when he’s fully relaxed; the other man flashes him a smile and pats his knee.

Word must get around because Minako soon appears. 

“Yuuuuuuuuri!” Another pretty lady, tall and slender, waves with her arm. There’s a gust; it sifts and stretches her long, brown hair. “It’s been a long time!”

“Minako-sensei! It’s been awhile!” Yūri returns her greeting. “Has the year been kind?”

“No less than usual. The sake is plentiful and the men don’t cause trouble. And I’ve begun teaching your nieces the festival dances. How was your harvest?” She quirks an eyebrow and her voice gets suspicious.Victor is abruptly reminded of his eldest brother, testing for lies. “And what’s this I hear about a foreigner trying to shack up with you?”

“This is Victor. He’s staying with me now.”

Victor melts a bit inside. Some of that must show on his face. Minako’s own features soften and she’s not quite as fierce after that.

“I see, I’m glad. Yūri’s always been alone. He’s a good man, though. He makes a warm family.” The compassion in her tone shifts to include them both. “I’m glad he has someone to do the same for him. Take good care of him for us.”

“Minako-sensei! Stop asking Victor for nonsense!” Yūri protests, face flaming with embarrassment.

Minako rounds on him with barely-restrained glee. “Ohh? And what will you do to stop me, Yū-chan?” She shakes a finger in his face. “Be grateful you have family that cares for you, brat. All you do is work, work, work. You never come to town unless it’s for business.”

“You’re letting your head get too big for you again after a winter all alone. It’s a good thing you have someone with you now. He seems dependable; and pretty to look at. Do yourself a favor and convince him to stick around for a long while.”

Victor watches his friend endure the lecture and stifles a laugh behind his sleeve.

Stick around? That was the easiest thing in the world to do.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They sell all their rice by mid-afternoon.

“Good work, Victor.” Yūri says. Victor repeats the customary words with a smile.

They shoulder the empty baskets and Minako’s generous gift of delicious sake.  

Yūri puts a hand on Victor’s forearm. “We should stop by the fabric maker.”

“What for?”

Yūri pretends to give him a baleful look. “Don’t you remember? We planned to make a second futon as soon as possible.”

Victor scratches his neck, inexplicably pained. What Yūri’s saying is rational and yet…he’s perfectly fine with how things are. “It just seems like a luxury that can wait awhile.”

Like forever.

But Yūri makes a disagreeing sound. “I’d like my own pillow. And blanket. And you’re a restless sleeper.”

Even more distressed, Victor limps after his friend, clutching his chest. “Yūri, I’m hurting, do you really mean that? I think my heart might stop, it’s so cold.”

The farmer’s low chuckle, and fingers that wrap around the gourd in his hand, covering his own, ease the ache.

Just enough for him to breathe.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They purchase a pillow, blanket, and enough fabric to create second straw pallet. Victor draws the line at spending their hard-earned money on clothes. What he has on is enough; in terms of quality, it’s really _more_ than enough.

Yūri’s a fair sewer. Victor learns quickly and does most of the work in his favorite patch of sunlight. At night, Yūri washes the fields off his feet and legs. And Victor sets aside his work to feed his hungry friend and maybe even draw out out some conversation.

Yūri has hours and hours to think out in the fields and his ruminations take on a life of their own, transforming into living discourse and a doorway into Yūri’s head. On nights Yūri shares his thoughts, Victor can feel the countryside settle deeper into his bones, taking him as its own. He’s lived with Yūri for four months and he’s starting to find his place.

Yūri prefers to speak of the past. One night, he explained that his life is a simple one and should Victor choose to stay, he’ll pick up its rhythms soon enough.

Victor finishes the futon and that night, after dinner, they set the pallets out. Victor lays his – dyed a rich blue – next to Yūri’s faded green, strips off his clothes and settles in for the night.

It’s not quite the same. Victor instantly misses the extra warmth.

But for the first time, Yūri is facing him and the distance between their bodies fades under the intensity of fire-licked mahogany.

“This is new,” Victor tries out the lame excuse, hoping Yūri won’t mind if he stares at him for awhile.

“We’ll adjust,” is all Yūri says. As before, he lets Victor be.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_At first, the well-bred man was a stranger in a strange land. But he is resourceful and allows himself to be reborn, taking to heart the lessons of the land and of his new family._

“I’m going to the village on my own today,” Victor mentions one morning. Yūri stops slurping his miso and sets the bowl down. “We have a nice stock of sandals to sell and I thought I’d visit this bar of Minako’s.”

“Would you like me to come along?”

“I’ll be fine. I remember the way. How much do you charge for your sandals?”

Yūri gives him a figure and they adjust it to fit Victor’s less experienced handiwork.

With the rice season over, Yūri spends his days climbing Yuri-o’s mountain to collect winter firewood and taking odd jobs from the family at the base in return for wild roots and greens. Instead of leaving right away, Yūri helps Victor close up the house.

On a whim, Victor drags out his woven box of treasures and picks out delicate silver chains of tiny painted bells. He doesn’t have a mirror, so he sits on the wooden platform and makes Yūri press the clips into his hair.

“The birds will love hearing you coming from far away.” Yūri teases, tugging on a chain and making the bells tinkle.

“Stop, Yūri, be kind.” Victor chides, “you’ll make me nervous. Instead, send me off with a smile.”

They walk part of the way side by side, until they reach a tee in the road and they part ways, Yūri north to the mountain, Victor south to the village.

At the last minute, Yūri snags Victor’s sleeve, pulling the taller man a little closer. He presses his mouth lightly on Victor’s cheek, flashing him a smile and a backwards wave.

“Do your best, Victor. And take care.”

Stunned, Victor stands frozen until Yūri disappears into the trees. It’s only when he can’t see him anymore that Victor’s able to force his body to turn around, facing the wind – hand cupped protectively over his cheek – and continue his journey.

In the village, working as a vendor for the first time, Victor considers his options. He could spread himself out on a blanket by the road. He could head straight to the square with the village well and peddle as he walked.

The latter sounds a bit more appealing. Victor heads deeper into the village.

Victor meanders about, weaving in and out of the crowds. But the villagers give him a wide berth wherever he goes, never scurrying, but definitely moving in response, keeping their distance, eyeing his serpentine wanderings with no small amount of wariness.

Finally, Victor scuffs his sandal and rubs the back of his neck in thought. His wrist brushes the bells and they give a muffled chime.

The sound is barely audible, but a little girl inches closer as she pretends to stare at a flower cart.

On a hunch, Victor _slowly_ , languidly stretches his arms over his head. He’s winging this, but muscle memory inspires him. He goes into the first stance of an advanced kata, only he keeps his limbs moving when the pose is to be sustained.

He’s stiff at first, his elbows and wrists at perfect angles the way he was taught. Keeping his nerves in check, he focuses on moving at half-speed to avoid startling anyone. The point is to use the swish and flow of his wedding robes draw the eye, use the bells to draw the ear, take advantage of the unusual dance to _keep their attention_.

Gradually, he loosens his wrists and softens his knees, uses the reactions of his tiny audience to flick his fingers and flaunt his kicks and spins.

On impulse, he takes a pair of sandals and claps them together in counterpoint.

After some time, Victor realizes that he’s dancing more than training. His tempo has grown dynamic, he’s picked up a new rhythm based entirely on what makes the bells and sandals sound good.

_And his audience has grown exponentially._

He ends the dance and almost instantly, there are three villagers at his shoulder. One wants to know more of his dance and Victor freely admits he just made that up. The second is eyeing the sandals in his hands and asks to borrow them.

“What for?” Victor asks, perplexed.

“To see if I can create the same sounds!” The man enthuses. “I’m a musician. That was very clever, what you did. Will you let me try? Or, if you want, I’ll buy two pairs off you.”

_Well, who would pass that up?_ “I’d be honored if you made a purchase,” Victor gives him his best smile. “My work is rather humble right now, but they are sturdy and will last a very long time.”

Victor sells five more pairs after that. And his afternoon repeats. He dances, he learns how to avoid smacking himself in the eye with a bell-chain, and he slowly empties his basket of wares.

From his last customer, he asks for directions to Minako’s bar.

Minako must read the exhaustion on his face. The dancer just points him towards the far end and sets a sake cup and bottle in front of him and leaves him alone.

Victor gratefully eases the basket off his back, takes his seat and sighs into his arms. Even an afternoon of training had not been so grueling on his body.

Of course, he had never trained while carrying half his body weight on his back.

Minako’s sake is smooth and refreshing for an alcoholic drink. He partakes of cup after cup, deliberating on the taste. Does she infuse it with fruit? Flowers? Spices?

No, he decides. Not spices. The taste is bright and crisp. It reminds him of the height of spring.

He hopes it’s a wildflower; Yūri would be able to show it to him on their walks. He could ask Yūri what he knew of it.

And he could listen to Yūri’s light tones bouncing around the trees while the sunlight fragmented and dispersed across the leaves.

“So, what brings you into the village today?”

Sunny with drink, Victor launches into the story of his day. Minako is a delightful audience and he realizes, an excellent resource. It tickles her to hear how he plans to sell his sandals and she’s free with her opinions, illustrating her words with her body. She laughs at the tiny bruises on his cheekbones and jaw where the bells have left their marks and suggests alternate methods of wearing the chain.

Before he knows it, late afternoon shadows loom over the bar and Victor knows he must get home. He wants to see Yūri, to show him the empty basket and the tiny bruises on his face and the wrapped bundle of coins at his waist. He has success to share with his friend, the first steps towards his own future.

He is still a stranger in a strange land, but the village is now familiar and Yūri’s friends are becoming his family, too.

When he arrives at their hut, he comes face to face with the best part of his day. Yūri, glowing off the fire, the other man raising his eyes at the sound of the door.

“I’m home.” He manages around the sudden fullness in his heart.

Yūri beams in agreement. “Welcome home, Victor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you like the best about Victor so far and what do you hope for him in the coming months and years?


	3. Yuuri - of countdowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri waits for the other shoe to drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stories and details inspired by Folktales in Japan and Mushi-shi. 
> 
> Year 1, from summer to winter. 
> 
> This chapter overlaps chapter 2 and makes references to events told from Victor's POV. But it should be unnecessary to go back, unless you want to delve in and read between the lines. Also, this chapter was more difficult to write because it travels back and forth between summer and fall. Unlike Victor, Yuuri is stuck in the past and focuses on how certain things changed over time.

_The young man was quiet and sometimes shy, but as the thunder demon said, he worked hard and he took care of his new family._

After Yuri-o left, Yūri started treating time as a finite resource.

He counted down the days until Victor decided to leave.

Yūri started out with seven days. When he reached zero once, then once more, and the other man showed no signs of being dissatisfied, he accepted that Victor was made of sterner stuff. He started counting down the days until winter. If Victor didn’t leave before the first snowfall, the other man would be forced to stay until spring.

Unless he was so unhappy he was willing to let Yūri be eaten by a demon.

Yūri suspected he’d enjoy the four to five months while they lasted. Before Victor arrived, he’d been alone for over a year. He'd spend weeks and seasons in utter silence and his personal boundaries had expanded to include the length and breadth of his family’s land. He held long conversations with himself in the lazy rhythm of farming and when he grew tired of his own predictability, he turned to one-sided discussions with the gods.

In the absence of human voice, his thoughts and prayers buzzed loudly in his ears like flocks of cicadas in the summer.

Summer was the time of year where everything happened under Yūri’s watchful eye and careful guidance. In that respect, having Victor around to mentor and shape suited this time of year. Through no fault of his own, Victor nevertheless required patience and flexibility he hadn’t needed to exercise in years, not since he was a much younger man - a child - finding his place around his sister’s blunt nature and his friends’ teasing and Minako-sensei’s nosiness. It was just that Victor’s personality was the exact opposite of Yūri’s: naturally ebullient, social, talkative, and very _touchy_.

The first month was the most difficult. He and Victor were together all the time, from morning til night, from dinner to breakfast, without reprieve, too much closeness, all too abrupt.

Yūri didn’t know how he managed to survive with his sanity intact.

Victor was helpless at practically every aspect of country life. Each day was a startling reminder that Yūri and this stranger were from completely different worlds. He had no idea how to cook, how to clean. The concept of rodents and pests was utterly foreign. He was several steps removed from the idea of living side-by-side with gods and demons.

But each day, Victor met him halfway. He kept his promise - worked hard, learned quickly – and Yūri never really had to worry. He just needed to adjust and as time passed, it became easier.

Eventually, he even grew accustomed to their closeness at night. Originally, he had a fleeting, insane hope that their first, awkward night would not be repeated. That once Victor’s clothes were dry and clean, he’d miraculously find something to sleep in.

How naïve.

Nights were a test of a different sort, less mental and more primal, something natural and instinctive that Yūri found difficult to describe. Victor these days was a more earthen creature, washed of oils and perfumes and one with the scents of the fields and dirt, his silver hair bleached pale and skin transformed under constant exposure to the sun. Yet, something within Yūri continued to stir each evening, once the day was gone and their meal was done and they were both too tired to do much more than sleep and conserve their energies for the following day.

It gnawed at Yūri, this deep, dark craving, each night when Victor shucked his wedding robes and they huddled under the blanket, back to back, oddly angled to share a pillow meant for one.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yūri liked to tend the fields in the early dawn and finish before the summer heat sapped him of all vitality. He would leave his house with a lantern to light the path, a lone figure melting into endless black. As he worked, the morning light would come up over the horizon and the rice stalks – taller and taller with each passing day – would cut into the spread of dawn, an army of slim soldiers, swaying and casting shadows that protected Yūri from the sun’s rays. And once the day’s work was complete, Yūri would turn his back on the waves of his cheerful, healthy green sea and return to his house.

Yūri can handle weeding five acres of rice by himself. With two sets of hands, the work was done more quickly and they often had time to survey the nearby mountain and foothills.

Summer and fall were the best times for outdoor activities, when the weather favored long excursions under the trees and the animals were settled til winter. Yūri took every opportunity to get them out of the house before harvest started because once the fields were golden-ripe, free time would be a thing of the past until winter.

Yūri preferred to be indoors during the cold, winter months.

Three times a week Victor preferred to train in the mornings and Yūri tended the fields alone. On those days, instead of approaching his familiar, shut house, he was treated to the sight of a barefoot Victor doing his morning katas, robes hanging off his waist. His long, long hair flew, loose and free, except for thin tendrils plastered over his shoulders, chest and back, zigzagging invitingly over sweaty skin.

Yūri always had to check he wasn’t drooling. He usually allowed himself a few seconds to admire the stretch and bend of Victor’s upper body, to experience shiver-inducing glimpses of pale buds on flat pectoral muscles and the evidence of a lifetime of training in Victor’s shoulders and upper arms.

Then he made himself avert his eyes and slink round to the back, where he could hide his burning face in the washing basin.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About two weeks after they met and Victor showed no signs of leaving, he did his duty and took the noble to Yuri-o’s mountain. The mountain was a fifteen minute walk to the east and another thirty north. Their river water and fish flowed down from its heights and it was the most reliable source of wild greens and a prosperous hunting ground. It was plentiful, even when their crops were bad, and they all paid their respects to the mountain god’s hard work.

Victor rubbed the back of his neck as they carefully picked their way over the uneven ground. “Yūri, it’s odd but it feels like we’re being watched.”

“It’s just that the mountain’s curious.” Yūri pushed through a low-hanging leaf. It was Victor’s first trip to the mountain and Yūri hasn’t been back since last fall, so his attention is largely on following the trail. If they get lost, even at this early afternoon hour, it would be inconvenient for him to try and get them both home all by himself.

“You make it sound like it’s alive.” Victor tried to joke, brushing invisible spiderwebs off his arms and shoulders. He shook his foot loose.

“That’s because it is. Spirits run under the surface of the mountain, connecting the plants and animals to its god. That way, the god keeps watch and keeps the balance so the mountain can flourish.”

“Really?” Victor looked excited and intrigued.

“Yes, the mountain spirits are curious creatures. They thrive on stimuli, so sometimes, they’ll hang onto you and it feels like you walked through cobwebs. Or they’ll wind themselves around your arms and legs and if you’re not careful, you’ll trip over thin air.”

“I’ve felt phantom sensations since we entered the woods. It just felt like I kept brushing plants and tripping on low branches. Being watched is much more familiar. My old master used to make me hunt him down for hours before he got tired and knocked me unconscious from behind.” Victor made a face at the memories. “How do we know they’re really ghosts if you can’t see them?”

Yūri cast him an amused, condescending glance. “Have you been humoring me and my stories? Don’t ask for them if you can’t acknowledge gods and spirits _might_ be real. And really, you’re the last person to play ignorant, Mr. Bride-Brought-By-A-Thunder-Demon.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten about that!”

Yūri laughed. “Well, whatever you do, don’t get angry. They’re just doing what’s natural, so there’s no reason to take it out on the mountain. Besides, if the god doesn’t like you, you might disappear.”

“I am having trouble committing to the idea.” Victor admitted. “Where I come from, believing in the unseen is _faith_ , not fact. So, I’ll start with making sure I remember all your stories! I’ll ask you to tell me over and over again until I have them memorized. Then I definitely won’t get into trouble.”

After another hour of uphill wanderings, Yūri and Victor arrived at their destination. The _hokora_ – a tiny shrine – was set into the base of a cliff, a homemade wooden cupboard on stilts with sliding doors and angled, carved roof. Yūri set his wrapped bundle on the stone shelf and untied the ends.

Victor hovered over his shoulder with blatant interest. He bit his tongue, though, and let Yūri work until the younger man set out a woven sheaf with rice balls and pickled vegetables.

Yūri motioned Victor to stand right beside him. “This is where we pay respects to the mountain god, to ask him for his blessings to take what we need and to thank him for watching over the mountain and our safety.”

“And the god isn’t Yuri-o.” Victor said.

“No. If anything, Yuri-o is obligated to work with the god if asked because he calls this mountain his home. Yuri-o is a thunder demon, and he and his brethren were created to help the thunder god with their work. That’s his first priority.”

Yūri faced the shrine, bowed twice, clapped his hands, and prayed aloud, repeating his request to keep them safe within the mountain and for permission to take what they needed to live.

“Your turn.” Yūri gestured expectantly. “I’ve included you in my prayers as a member of my family. What applies to me, applies to you. Now, you need to introduce yourself so the god recognizes you.”

Victor licked his lips nervously. “What should I say?”

“Something important to you. So the mountain will know it’s you with that fundamental truth.”

Victor closed his eyes in thought, still looking somewhat unconvinced and self-conscious. He seemed to come to a resolution, tucking his hands neatly into his sleeves. He took a half step back and bent at the waist, holding the pose while he prayed.

On their way down, Victor asked, “Don’t you want to know what I said?”

“No. That’s between your heart and the mountain.”

Victor pursed his lips in disappointment.

But Yūri felt a surge of affection for this man: so eager to share, so gracious with Yūri’s life and friendship.

It was nice to have family again, even for a little while. Back at the shrine, Yūri had ruthlessly suppressed an idle wish that Victor would never leave.

Such a careless plea risked offending the gods. Yūri sought contentment in solitude, in his place and the path he walked. It was the least he could do for his parents, who had worked hard for their childrens’ joy, and ultimately succumbed to illness because their son couldn’t commit and find fulfillment in his daily life.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Over time, the young man and the well-bred man grew to rely on each other. They stumbled into pitfalls and were uplifted by discoveries, yet with every step, their foundation became solid and firm._

In the dying days of summer, once their stock of meat ran low, he thought he’d teach Victor to set out the fishing trap and maybe, hopefully, leave that unpleasant task to him.

Yūri actually hated to fish.

He’d never been any good at it. The wait was stressful and he would check the line every minute. The fish never bit and on the rare times Yūri caught one, the fish escaped seconds later. Mari kept telling him his line was too jittery and he needed to be more gentle.The fish weren’t going to go anywhere near hyperactive bait and the force he used to pull a catch out was yanking the hook out of its mouth.

Try as he might, Yūri never could train himself to move slowly and carefully. He’d long since given up on the idea of mastering the skill. Instead, once he outgrew his sister and she stopped thinking it was cute when he’d beg her to take his turns, he built heart-shaped traps for the fish to swim into. He’d secure them in fast-moving waters and let the trap do all the work.

This was the skill he successfully passed onto Victor.

So, with great relief, he left Victor in charge and put the thought of fishing out of his head.

Victor would go upstream every three or four days and empty the trap, returning with a basket of large fish, enough to get them through until the next trip.  

In the late fall, however, something changed. Yūri noticed Victor had fashioned a larger waterproof basket with straps instead of handles. Victor started coming home with three or four times as many fish.

So the next time Victor wandered to the river, instead of making his way to the mountain for winter firewood and odd jobs, he went looking for his friend.

Victor wasn’t at the location they left their trap. Yūri noted the trap was still there, filled with fish, and the area undisturbed, so the noble hadn’t been by.

After some searching, he found him much futher upstream, right before a waterfall where the currents were nonexistant and there was a flat, sun-drenched rock.

Victor was napping in his undercloth, eyes tucked under his elbow. His other arm was stretched towards the river.

As he got closer,Yūri saw the basket was half full of fish and water and a fishing line was tied to his wrist and held off the ground by a Y-shaped branch jammed into a crevice.

“Yūri.” Victor yawned, startling him.

“Victor. How’d you know? Nevermind. What are you doing?”

“You have distinctive footsteps.” The noble murmured, unmoving. “You tread more on the ball of your foot than your heel. Do you dance? And I’m fishing. It’s unsporting to use the trap when I can catch the fish myself.”

“You fish?!” Yūri couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“My family’s land sits next to a river and an ocean. Half of our wealth comes from fishing. And it’s one of the few hobbies I was allowed.”

Yūri had grown accustomed to being the expert. He practically associated Victor’s foreign-ness with ignorance. So he’d always assumed that even in this activity, his poor efforts were leagues beyond Victor’s capacity.

Victor would never cease to amaze him.

“Where did you get the fishing hook? I don’t keep any around.”

“Last time I was in town, I bumped into a peddler and he had a items I’ve been missing. I probably should have asked first, but I spent a few of our coins on paper, writing implements, and a fishing hook.”

“You never need to ask,” Yūri said with surprising vehemence. “I trust you to be reasonable and it’s our money, not just mine. When you - ” here his voice dried and he was forced to clear his throat. “When you leave, we’ll divide our earnings equally.”

Victor abruptly sat up. The string was jerked out of the branch and puddled loosely onto the stone. He planted his hands on the ground to support his weight and ignored the disruption to his fishing line.

“Leave? Yūri, I’m not leaving.” He looked anguished, then covered it up quickly. “Or do you need me to go somewhere?”

Yūri sensed a great disconnect between them and opted to set the matter aside. “Ah, nothing. Just a passing thought. Please don’t trouble yourself.” He peered into the basket. “You must be very good, since you catch more than we can possibly eat.”

“I’m stocking up for the winter.” Victor fussed with his line. His shoulders were stiff and his forehead was creased, his tone ripe with meaning. “I’ve been salting and drying them behind the shed.”

“I wonder what other secret talents you have that you haven’t shown me.” Yūri tried to tease, wanting those pink-tanned shoulders to uncurl, for Victor to fall back into repose.

Victor gave up on his line and untied the string completely. He reached for his robes and tugged them on with sharp, anxious movements. Yūri sighed as all that gorgeous skin disappeared from view.

“I’ll be heading back,” Victor chirped, lifting the heavy basket like it was nothing. He crouched and planted a swift goodbye kiss on Yūri’s cheek, but it felt like a mocking gesture, unlike the kiss Yūri initiated not two weeks ago.

He disappeared into the trees and Yūri contemplated his existence for a breath. He remembered the last kiss, on Victor’s first solo trip to town. It had been an impulsive gesture, borne out of need to be with Victor in spirit, if not physically, as he embarked a novel experience. Victor had reacted in a way that still pleased him deep down, with stunned surprise and soft delight, a new beginning.

Yūri would keep him that way forever if he could.

Victor’s goodbye peck felt like a beginning cut short, the return of stolen property. It made Yūri’s stomach churn unpleasantly and anxiety rear up from the back of his mind.

He stood and swiftly headed back to the house.

He arrived moments after Victor; the other man was just setting up to descale and gut the fish.

“Yūri,” Victor’s eyes disappeared into a false smile. “Since you’re home early, let’s decide what’s for lunch together. Shall we have soup? Roasted fish and root vegetables?”

His hands swiftly and busily manipulated the meat and knife, blade carving into each fish with the fewest number of strokes.

“Not sure?” Victor continued, unruffled, “I’m in the mood for something crisp. Let’s roast. I think we have a few roots in the house. Could you wrap some up and get the fire going?”

Yūri stayed put, mind blank. What was he planning to say?

_Victor, I don’t expect you to stay._

_Victor, I don’t understand why you’ve remained._

_Victor, I never want you to leave._

Those words all left him vulnerable.

He put a hand on Victor’s shoulder. “I can do that.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on Victor’s forehead, feeling a faint tremor under his hand. He leaned back. Victor’s eyes were closed, his hands still. “My life has changed for the better since I met you. I’m grateful every day you’re here.”

The tension finally eased. Victor gave a small, heartfelt quirk of the lips and reminded him to stoke the fire.

Yūri released a sigh of relief as quietly as he could, with his back turned and no one to see how much effort it took to find honesty that left him with some measure of security.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes Yūri, despite his best efforts and good intentions, couldn’t bear to be around another human being. On those days, he gave Victor the slip if he was lucky. If he wasn’t, the other man had to deal with being openly snubbed and left behind.

When he had lived alone, these days had different challenges. In solitude, motivation had been his enemy and Yūri had struggled with finding the energy to accomplish his normal routine and risked his livelihood and survival. Living with Victor, being responsible for another human being, was enough separate survival and livelihood from his anxieties and depressions and Yūri had no problems soldiering through.

The challenge came after, once the work was done and hours remained until nightfall and blessed sleep.

Yūri went on long walks through his fields, losing hours and hours amongst the stalks that towered over his head. He walked with his trousers rolled to his knees, bare feet submerged in paddy water, muddy soil squishy and warm between his toes. Every step sent silt swirling around his ankles and calves. He dragged his hands from plant to plant. He felt safest surrounded by tangible evidence of his labor and his family’s love for the land. Here, he felt strong enough to bear the demons of his own mind.

He walked until his anxiety grew tired and complacent and his mind fell into blissful silence. Only then would he return home, to an overeager friend and blatant attempts to make him smile.

Victor rarely, if ever, succeeded, but in his own way, he was meeting Yūri halfway by leaving him be.

But now that the fields were harvested and bare, Yūri had taken to hiding in the mountain, idly wandering the same trails. It wasn’t near as soothing as his own fields, but if he listened carefully, Yūri sometimes thought he could hear the soundscape of the mountain god’s halcyon mind. There was a different sort of peace to be found in the god’s baser motivations, a mosaic of different rates of life and death that resonated and canceled one another to create rich harmony.

He usually ended up at the _hokora_ of the mountain god, tucked into a stone alcove at the base of a cliff. Where he had first introduced Victor to the god as family, having known him for less than a month, but already attached. Victor had surprised him by staying and he’d responded impulsively, announced to the gods that he had taken this unusual-looking human under his protection and asked them to consider Victor an extension of himself.

It had been warm, green and lush that day, so unlike this afternoon’s carpet of fallen leaves, the plants displaying a rich spectrum of browns, oranges and reds.

Winter was practically at their doorstep and their idyllic period was coming to an end.

Yūri closed his eyes and prayed for the days to stand still, that he could have more time to enjoy Victor’s friendship and company. He’s never been so grateful to have another person, one that brought joy to his days and well-received by the people in his life. He wanted more walks in the woods and through the fields, to show him the secrets of the mountain and the places with the most breathtaking views of the next valley. He wanted to experience again and again having Victor to come home to every night. He wanted an infinite number of golden, autumn afternoons when Victor would bring him lunch and they’d sit and talk under the trees.

He opened his eyes and dimly realized his cheeks were wet, stinging, and chilled from standing in the cold. He wiped his face and looked up, just in time to see a sky dotted with fluffy, white flakes of their first snowfall.

 _Winter_ had arrived. ~~~~

He’d offended the god with his selfishness. Either that, or Victor would…

No. Yūri shut his mind against hope.

He would tell Victor and Victor would make his decision.

At home, Victor greeted him by shoving an untidy bundle of straw in his face. “Yūri, help me.” He spread the woven strands out in the vague shape of a _mino_ , capes to protect against snow and rain. “It’s very uneven and it has a few holes.” He prodded a finger through a poorly padded shoulder.

Yūri inspected his handiwork. But he couldn’t focus. “This is pretty bad,” he tried to joke. “I can teach you again, and you can make a new one. When do you need this finished? The snow’s begun to fall; it’ll be too dangerous to travel over the mountain in two to three weeks.” Once he started, the words spilled out. “But you could probably still travel to the village until the start of the new year, if you wanted to stay longer. I’m sure Minako-sensei, or Yuu-chan,” his voice cracked.

“Oh, that’s good!” Victor hugged him, smushing the _mino_ and bending the straw unforgivingly. “Last time I was in the village, Yuuko-san said that we were to come to the winter _matsuri_ and we were to stay the night. Can we do that, Yūri? I’m sure we can find a place to stay and the village is probably so pretty in the snow. The children said there would be a bonfire and Mari-san mentioned the festival lanterns.”

He might have noticed Yūri’s stiff posture. He slowly stopped talking, bright smile fading. “Yūri? What’s wrong?”

He should ask, he should ask, he needed to ask. He needed to know when his heart would leave. Instead, he murmured, “What’s this _mino_ for? So I know how much insulation to weave in.”

“For going on walks,” Victor retorted, a mix of anger, bafflement, and stating the obvious. “Carrying in the firewood. What else would it be for?”

“Mmm.” Yūri hummed in acknowledgement. He let the words sink in. Victor was actively planning for winter on the farm.

He would get to keep Victor til spring. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The absence of farmwork made the nights and days blend together. Winter was almost the answer to his prayer, an illusion of time at a standstill, spooling from one story to the next. Winter was more time with Victor than he had ever hoped for.

“Tell me the story of the seasons,” Victor demanded one morning. The sun has been up for hours, but they remained huddled under the blankets, loathe to give up the fireside warmth.

Yūri just groaned in response and tried to hide, turning his back and pulling the covers over his head.

“Yūri. Yūri.” His friend insisted, closer and closer. Victor wormed his way across their futons and under Yūri’s blanket. “Yuu~ri~.” His knees butted sharply into Yūr’'s spine. “Your great-uncle often said,” he prompted, uncaring.

Yūri sighed and rolled over. “My great-uncle often told a story that happened in his village a very long time ago.” He recited.

“Yūri, you’re not saying it right.”

“I need to wake up a bit, first.” Yūri reluctantly crawled out of bed, shivering in the bracing chill, and splashed cold water on his face, letting his skin pimple instead of fighting his body’s natural response. “Winters were so much more peaceful before you came along and demanded stories every day.” He teased. “I could sleep in since there were no crops to tend, stay warm and half-awake in the absence of responsibilities.”

The lump on his futon stiffened.

Belatedly, Yūri realized he’d gone too far. As children, Mari had often called him out on his passive-aggressiveness, his moments of unintentional cruelty. He has made similar mistakes with Victor, brief moments of shameful action that betrayed his own insecurities.

He had quite a lot of things to be uncertain about. He doubted himself - his thoughts and ideas - during the long hours he worked in the fields with only himself to keep him company. Feelings were foreign and sporadic, also questionable and subject to self-criticism. His actions were the only things he was ever sure about, but that might be because he often failed to act.

Yūri spent much of his life hunkered down and unmoving, a boulder on a lazy river. Rocks had decades and eons to consider their next move and Yūri liked to think that he spent just as much time in careful deliberation.

Being around Victor drew out his recklessness. Victor was his better in practically every way and yet the other man looked and acted like Yūri hung the moon and stars in the sky. It made him feel just a little bit – a lot, _immensely_ – pathetic, that he had earned such reverence for events that had been out of his control.

 _Yuri-o_ had saved Victor. _Yuri-o_ had been the one to whisk him away from a dreaded future, and in doing so, given Victor control over his own life. Yūri had been an incidental factor in the entire chain of events, superfluous, unnecessary. From the beginning, Victor always had more options than to chain himself to a remote farm in an unknown village.

Yet Victor chose to stay. For unfathomable reasons. Victor defied his countdown; each and every time he came down to zero, the man was there the next day, an iridescent sun greeting him when he fully expected to awake alone.

He lived with this incomprehension every day and with his insecurities perpetually whispering in the reality of Victor’s perfection. Sometimes, he forgot Victor could hurt, too, and ended up being cruel on accident, calmly lashing out under the guise of wry humor.

Victor always bore the brunt of it quietly and that was usually a telling sign because Victor never bore _life_ quietly. He ran towards emotions and companionship with open arms and wore his heart on his sleeve. He was loud in response to minor mishaps, scolded Yūri when he was teased, and demanded Yūri’s attention like a child.

Yūri was learning. About the parts of himself that didn’t need to be in charge and how to coexist with another person whose well-being was as important to him as his own comfort. And he would continue to make mistakes and learn from them until their sharp edges slotted together or they parted ways.

“My great uncle,” he crossed his legs and wrapped himself in a cocoon. He slipped still-cool fingers into the space between and dragged his friend up. “There was a story he would tell when my father was young, about the children in his village and the winter they met a boy dressed in blue.”

Victor nudged closer hesitantly and Yūri was reminded Victor loved contact, came to life under familiar gestures, and tugged him until he sat between the other man’s thighs and they shared their warmth under the same covers.  

“It was late in winter, on the cusp of spring, yet the boy bore autumn fruits and nuts.” Yūri lilted, the words coming easily once he started the familiar rhythm and intonation. He ignored how Victor’s hands suddenly grew greedy for more touch, pressing heavily along his back - shoulder to feet - the other man’s chin digging into his crown.

_“Where did you get such treasures?” The children said. The boy asked if they wanted some and tipped the persimmons in his arms into the snow. “There is a garden full of trees bearing persimmons and pears and chestnuts. Would you like to see?” The fruit was delicious and the children curious and they nodded eagerly. The boy hopped down from his perch, the long tail of his coat swirling behind him. “Get on!” He gestured to his coattails._

Yūri told the tale of their adventure in the land of perpetual autumn, of the North Wind’s forgetfulness and the South Wind’s reliable nature. And that when the children were returned to their village, late that night and after their parents searched for hours, they bore bundles of autumn fruit and nuts. With such evidence in hand, their families and friends almost had no choice but to believe their newfound knowledge: that the seasons were brought about by the travel of the winds.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They would do this from time to time, huddle as one and watch the snow fall while Yūri used his voice and memories to weave a childlike spell. Like their first month, he and Victor were together day and night, often indoors, where Yūri couldn’t escape Victor’s boundless affection and hunger for proximity. Victor taught him letters and numbers and the combinations to create words using the papers he scribbled on from time to time.

Occasionally, they’d break the monotony of their routine and the fresh layers of snow with two sets of footprints crossing their buried fields or venturing into the wilderness of Yuri-o’s mountain. The land was a beast in slumber during winter, devoid of sound and life. Yūri told Victor the story of a spirit that ate sound and when to close his ears lest they fall off.

At the cusp of spring, Yūri was finally ready to accept the gift that was Victor and hold it close to his heart.

And when the snow began to melt, Yūri didn’t start another countdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the end of this part of the story. Chapters keep getting longer and longer. I wonder if this trend will continue. If it does, please bear with longer intervals between chapters.
> 
> I have actually been active in the fandom in the last week and a half. fish-with-a-pencil writes this awesome fic and I occasionally help her add OCs: [Stammi Vicino, Arranged for Chorus](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9794687/chapters/21995459).
> 
> And I created a [masterpost for tumblr posts in the folktales verse](http://espritneo.tumblr.com/post/157443400738/folktales-au-table-of-contents) that I wrote instead of working on this chapter haha.
> 
> Ah what are your thoughts on Yuuri's perspective and his resolution at the end of the chapter?


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